


Something New

by bezitazita



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Childbirth, F/M, Family, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 15:39:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4751789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bezitazita/pseuds/bezitazita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just before her 40th birthday, Bulma Briefs finds that she will be having another baby! How will things be different than her first pregnancy? How will Vegeta react to having another child?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something New

                Bulma was glad that Vegeta was an early bird for multiple reasons that morning. He had cleaned up her laundry off the floor, only because he hated a messy floor, not to do her any favor. He had also been out of the room for several hours when she woke up, dizzy and nauseous. Red wine gave her such a bad hangover anymore. One of her girlfriends had suggested that she try out an _organic_ wine; obviously that didn’t make a difference. She pushed herself out of bed and nearly tripped over the slippers that Vegeta had neglected to pick up from her bedside. _What a mess,_ she thought as she made her way to the bathroom. It looked like Vegeta had taken to putting away all of her makeup from the bathroom counter as well. He had shoved it all into the top drawer under the sink, taking no care with her expensive creams, compacts, and palettes. One lipstick was left uncapped on the tile counter, as he had used it to scribble “ _Pick up your shit, Woman”_ across the mirror in his scratchy, alien-looking handwriting. Bulma sighed, steadying herself on the counter, and observed her husband’s handiwork. He had impeccable tastes, no doubt. He had ruined her most expensive tube of lipstick.

                Suddenly, a wave of nausea overtook her and she doubled over, throwing up in the sink. After everything was gone from her stomach, she flipped on the water and let it run as she leaned and pressed her head to the cool tile. She was just shy of birthday number 39; maybe her days of splitting a bottle of wine with her husband before bed were over. Vegeta was smart about the wine and had urged her to drink some water before falling asleep, but she had declined. It took much more than a few glasses to get him off his feet and he had still followed with water regardless. She was the genius and he had outsmarted her. Damn him.

                “I’m leaving for the day,” Vegeta’s voice sounded as he abruptly entered the bedroom beyond her. She heard his steps cease and she suspected that he had expected to find her in bed still. She straightened up and wiped her mouth. She stepped into the bedroom, looking rather pale and sickly. “What’s the matter with you?”

                “I got sick,” she replied, slightly annoyed at his lack of compassion, though the many years they had been together should have taught her better. “What’s it to you?”

                Vegeta huffed and crossed his arms. His nose twitched, likely still smelling the acidic signature of vomit still clinging to her. She blushed, now feeling like she had been overly defensive. He continued, “Kakarott and I have been invited to train with Whis. Is this going to be a problem now that your body is rejecting that whole bottle you tossed back last night?”

                “Half,” she interjected. “You helped. Remember?”

                “I sipped at it. You called me a few choice words and finished the one glass I had poured once you drank the rest of the bottle,” he said, taking steps towards her. He added, “Not that I minded what followed.”

                She grabbed his shoulders and pulled herself close to his toned body. She felt him twitch slightly as she wrapped her arms around him, almost like he was afraid someone was going to walk in, before he wrapped his arms around her in turn. With his boots on and with her bare feet, she was able to comfortably rest her temple against his freshly-shaved cheek. He still smelled of soap and her ginger shampoo, which she would never tell another soul that he borrowed. It smelled so much better on him, spicy and exotic. She wanted to buy new shampoo months ago, but she couldn’t stand it on him in the very best way. Just as he started to relax into her, running his ungloved hands down the silk of her nightshirt, she felt the wave come back over her. Without enough warning to do anything, she vomited again, this time all over Vegeta’s shoulder and back.

                He stumbled back, releasing his hold on her and nearly crashing into the wall. Embarrassed, Bulma broke into tears and ran into the bathroom. Vegeta followed, tearing his training shirt off and tossing it into the laundry hamper. In one fluid movement, he scooped Bulma off her feet and carried her into the shower, all the while calling over her cries, “Nope. Nope! Not doing this today. Nope!”

                The water was ice cold when it started, causing them both to yelp. It warmed up gradually, bit by bit, and Vegeta put his wife down on her feet. Still in his pants and boots, he pulled them off and tossed them aside in the large glass shower. Bulma kept her eyes fixated on the shower wall, her night clothes clinging heavily to her body. Vegeta reached past her to grab the soap, his arm brushing over her shoulder. After a moment passed, he sighed, “I’ve been covered in worse, you know. I think once you’ve been showered in rotting organs from a cockroach the size of a train car everything else seems not so bad.”

                Bulma turned around and kissed Vegeta full on the mouth. His eyes widened in surprise, perhaps because he hadn’t considered his musings terribly comforting or romantic. She pulled back, laughing, and removed her soaking clothes, tossing them next to Vegeta’s on the shower floor.

* * *

 

                About a half hour later, Bulma and Vegeta descended down to the living area where the smell of breakfast was strong. The two entered the kitchen where Mrs. Briefs was setting out a large spread for breakfast. Dr. Briefs and Trunks were seated in their usual spots at the table, joined by Goku who had taken Vegeta’s usual chair. Bulma glanced at her husband in time to catch the subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth that would have been unnoticeable had she not known him as well as she did. Silently, he left her side and took the seat adjacent where Mrs. Briefs would have sat… if she believed in sitting while serving meals to others.

                “Hey Vegeta,” Goku said cheerfully. He turned his nose up in the air. “You smell really nice. Is that ginger?”

                Bulma could feel the heat radiating from Vegeta as she put her hands on his shoulders. She chimed in, “That’s me, actually. How are you doing, Goku?”

                “Pretty good. I am excited to go train with Whis. He is so strong! He says Vegeta and I could be stronger than Beerus if we worked together better,” her old friend responded breathlessly. Mrs. Briefs set a tray of bacon and sausage in the middle of the table and three Saiyan hands reached out, nearly clearing it. Dr. Briefs whistled tunelessly, reaching through to grab the remaining three slices of bacon. Goku crammed several pieces in his mouth, speaking still. “Vegeta is still saying no to fusion. I think it is a great idea.”

                Vegeta scoffed, “You’re out of your damn mind if you think I am going to go through that with the likes of you again. You’re going to have to go on your own today, anyway. Bulma is sick.”

                Bulma and Goku looked at each other in surprise. Even Trunks looked up from the mountain of hash browns that his grandmother was heaping onto his plate. Dr. Briefs poured sugar onto the table, missing his coffee entirely. After a silence, Bulma stammered, “I think I am okay now. I think it was just a little too much wine last night.”

                Trunks looked from his mother to his father to his mother again. Bulma poured herself a cup of coffee and took the seat next to Vegeta. Everyone was quiet in the room for a moment before Vegeta spoke again as he helped himself to a large portion of scrambled eggs, “If that’s how you feel.”

                “I’m completely fine,” she replied softly, doing her best to not make a big deal about her husband’s concern. “Trunks and I have a few errands to do today. We will be plenty busy here.”

                Bulma shot Trunks a look while Vegeta was turned to grab the coffee carafe. Trunks shot up as if struck by lightning. “Yeah. I need new shoes and underwear.”

                _Just like I taught him_ , Bulma thought to herself. Vegeta sipped from the scalding coffee silently. Mrs. Briefs brought around a tray of breakfast pastries and conversation turned to current events as per Dr. Briefs. Bulma buttered a slice of toast, noting that she did feel much better than she had that morning. Vegeta kept shooting her sidelong glances, which she did her best to ignore. She eventually caught his eye, responding with a sweet smile. He turned his attention back to the food on his plate instantaneously. Something odd was going on.

                After a hearty breakfast, Vegeta and Goku left for their training. Bulma helped her mother with clean up from the Saiyan hurricane at the table. Elbow deep in warm soapy water, Bulma let her guard down and chatted idly with her mother. Trunks was in the other room watching cartoons and Dr. Briefs had disappeared to his office to do paperwork in preparation for the upcoming week.

                “Vegeta seemed a little off this morning,” Mrs. Brief said casually, piling leftovers into the refrigerator. “Is everything alright with you two?”

                “Everything is fine,” Bulma responded, the same unsettling feeling from breakfast in her stomach. “I had a bit of a hangover this morning and I might have thrown up on him.”

                “Oh dear,” Mrs. Briefs remarked. “What a mess.”

                “I agree,” Bulma stated as she dried her hands on a kitchen towel. She set her arms akimbo. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him though. He was acting like I had the plague or something. I’ve never seen him act like that before.”

                Mrs. Brief giggled, shutting the fridge door. She paused for a moment, giving her daughter a knowing glance. “If there is one thing I know about Vegeta, it’s that he is very intuitive. If you think he is acting funny, there may be a reason.”

                And with that, Mrs. Briefs left the kitchen to tend her garden, leaving her daughter behind in confusion.

* * *

 

                “Focus, boys!” Whis called, easily evading the punches from the Saiyans. “Be of one mind. Pay attention to where the other is and what he is doing.”

                Vegeta threw a punch at Whis and missed, making contact with Goku’s jaw instead. Goku flew back, holding his jaw.

                “Ow! That hurt!” he cried out angrily. “Watch what you’re doing, Vegeta!”

                “Shut your face, Kakarott. I know what I’m doing,” Vegeta barked back. His boots touched down on the ground with a soft click. Meanwhile, Goku was contorting his face to attempt to stretch his jaw muscles.

                “I think we’re done for today,” Whis said, clapping his hands together. “I trust Lady Bulma sent along something delectable for us to sample?”

                “Nothing today, Whis,” Vegeta snarled. He knelt down, pretending to fix his boots. Really, he just needed to break from any chance for eye contact. “Bulma is expecting.”

                Whis chortled merrily, “Why, how precious! You must be delighted!”

                “Expecting? Expecting what?” Goku asked. He had regained his usual cheery demeanor, forgetting that Vegeta had nearly realigned his facial structure.

                “A baby, you idiot,” Vegeta spat. “Seriously, you have two children of your own. How did you make it through that?”

                “My contribution was pretty easy, to be honest,” Goku laughed, scratching the back of his head innocently. “From what I know about that sort of stuff, I can’t imagine you had to do much more than I did.”

                Vegeta deadpanned, looking up from his boots at his long-time nemesis. He stood back up, a vein in his temple pulsing. He responded, “That’s not what I’m talking about, Kakarott. You always manage to out-dumb yourself.”

                “No need for harshness, Vegeta. This is cause for celebration!” Whis interjected. “When did she break the happy news?”

                Vegeta sighed, looking off into nowhere. He had never even considered the possibility of another child. Trunks was conceived out of pure passion; he was never supposed to have happened. As time went on, he began to tolerate having the little one around. It was pretty amazing watching him grow and learn, though he would never openly admit how impressed he was. As Trunks grew, he even began to notice changes in his relationship with Bulma. Things shifted from mostly arguing with the occasional passionate, fiery sex to conversation, sharing living quarters, and making love. He began to see her as a partner, not a casual fling. No matter how much he fought domesticity, he couldn’t return to his old ways. Eventually, he was repulsed by the idea of being a lone warrior; his family, his wife and his son, were his reason to fight.

                “She doesn’t know,” he said after a long pause. “I didn’t notice until she woke up this morning. I sensed a change in her ki. I wasn’t sure about it until I put a hand on her and felt it through her back; it was faint but it was there.”

                “Oh my! What a surprise!” Whis exclaimed, all atwitter. “Humans aren’t very intuitive about those things from what I have heard.”

                “No,” Vegeta responded. “I didn’t even realize until later that she hadn’t bled in some time. Everything makes sense.”

                “Wow, Vegeta,” Goku mused, clapping a hand heavily on Vegeta’s shoulder. “Congratulations!”

                Vegeta turned and in an instant had Goku by the neck. The prince growled through bared teeth, “Listen to me now, Kakarott: If you mention a single word of any of this, _a single goddamn word_ , there won’t be a shred of you left to bury. Do you hear me?”

                “Whoa, whoa,” Goku choked, holding his hands up in surrender. “I got it.”

 

* * *

 

                Bulma and Trunks had spent most of the day out and about. They didn’t have any actual need for anything, though Trunks made good with his fib and got new shoes and underwear. Bulma bought a few new dresses, regardless of the number of garments she had hanging in her closet with the tags still attached. Trunks insisted on getting his own coffee while at the coffee shop, rejecting his usual hot chocolate for something more grown-up. Bulma sighed and caved. A sadness passed over her as she realized that her little baby was growing up. The next generation was coming along at full speed; Pan was almost six months old now. It would only be another blink of an eye before Trunks was married with a kid or two. She and Vegeta would be the old married couple at that point… or at least she would be old. He aged so slowly that it was insulting.

                The two of them returned to Capsule Corporation at the same time as Vegeta and Goku. The sun was still out, though it was threatening to dip below the horizon within moments. Bulma insisted that Goku stay for dinner, but he needed to return home to his own family. The Briefs shared the highlights of their day over roasted pork and a mountain of mashed potatoes as the sun went to bed for the night.

                Bulma turned on a movie for their smaller family unit when Vegeta noted that he was passing on his evening training. Trunks fell asleep early on in the movie, snoring lightly under a heap of blankets. When she knew that no one would be coming into the room, Bulma took the opportunity to cuddle up to her husband. She nuzzled her face into his neck and pulled her blanket around them. He remained oddly still, not pushing her away but not relaxing into her at all. After a moment of awkward cuddling, Bulma pulled back and sat on her own again.

                “Did I do something wrong?” she asked quiet enough to not wake her son. “Are you upset about this morning? It was an accident… I…”

                “When was the last time you bled?” Vegeta asked directly. Bulma sat in stunned silence for a few moments, unblinking. “You stopped your medication.”

                “I… I…” she began, but couldn’t continue. “I stopped taking it three months ago because it was making me sick. I switched to a different pill.”

                “Is it effective?” he asked in the same clipped fashion. His gaze was unfaltering, locked on her eyes with absolutely no sign of his mood behind them. Bulma sank into the couch. Her voice was small when she replied.

                “Are you saying you think I’m pregnant?”

                The silence between them seemed to slow the universe itself. The moment was halted only by the loud credits sequence rolling and Trunks sitting up abruptly in response.

                “I’m up. I’m up. Just gonna rest my eyes for five minutes,” Trunks muttered in a half-sleeping state. One eye was completely shut still and the other threatened to close. Vegeta stood and turned off the TV before ushering his son to stand on his own. When Trunks flopped back down like a rag doll, Vegeta swooped in to pick him up. He paused for a moment in the doorway, perhaps seeing if his wife was following, but eventually headed down the hallway. Bulma remained on the couch for several moments after her husband had left with their son. Another baby… there was no way.

                She headed towards the bedroom in a trance-like state. She couldn’t believe Vegeta’s words… not really. She was quickly approaching forty and was almost done raising Trunks out of boyhood. Starting over again seemed impossible. She may have glided up the stairs for all she knew. Her mind was many miles away. At the landing she noticed that Vegeta had left Trunks’s bedroom door partially ajar. As she passed, she glanced in to where her baby boy was sprawled out over his bed. Mouth agape and brows unfrowned, he still took her back to the moment she first held him in her arms. He was a handful, no arguing that, but he became her reason for breathing. Vegeta was distant, perhaps even resentful, at that time. He wasn’t anywhere on Earth when his son was born. She had her parents to support her, but the look in her son’s eyes was really all the support she needed deep down. Her mother had told her long ago that her life really began when she first became a mother; Bulma now understood.

                As she pulled Trunks’s door shut, Bulma put a hand instinctively on her flat stomach. She concentrated as hard as she could to try and detect what Vegeta was able to sense, but at no avail. She couldn’t be more than a month or so into a pregnancy, as she had been checked out at the doctor not even three months prior. It was amazing to her that he could sense something so tiny, so helpless. He could detect her “puny, insignificant energy signature” (his exact words on a thousand occasions) from miles away. No wonder he could sense the baby; this baby was going to have his same warrior blood.

                Vegeta was washing up in the bathroom when Bulma entered the adjacent bedroom and collapsed onto the bed. She heard the water turn off and some shuffling before he eventually came and took his place on the bed next to her. She wasn’t even going to bother taking off her makeup or even changing into her night clothes,  both being things that would bother her anal retentive husband. Noticing her continued state of disbelief, he held his comments in as he reached across to turn off her bedside lamp. He burrowed his way under the covers and into the pillows, feigning sleep. She sighed and rolled over to face the center of the bed.

                “What are you thinking about, Vegeta?” she said finally. She laid a hand against his back, running her hand lightly over his many scars. “Talk to me.”

                “We are in an interesting situation,” he responded, his voice hardly over a whisper. “Are you upset?”

                “I am surprised,” she said with careful consideration, “but I am not the least bit upset. I love having a family… more specifically, I love _our_ family. Bringing another one on board will just keep things from getting too stale. What would I do if you ended up getting bored with us, anyway?”

                Vegeta turned in to her, his expression unreadable. He leaned in and placed a kiss on the tip of her nose. She smiled as she began to relax again and turned so her back would rest up against his chest. He pulled her in close, wrapping his arms around her protectively. She grabbed one of his hands and held it to her stomach tenderly.

                “I will stop by my doctor’s office tomorrow morning just to make sure,” she said, the excitement and realness of the situation finally starting to sink in. “I am really nervous but I am excited.”

                He said nothing in response but she knew the underlying feeling that he was pressing down. Though he would never say it outright, he loved her and Trunks. He loved them so much that he died in attempts to save them a few years ago. He had come so far from the cold, ruthless killer that he had been when his pod first landed on Earth so many years ago. She honestly believed that he had become so much stronger through his love of his family. He went from having nothing to lose in his early days on Earth to having a deeper motivation to fight. She wasn’t sure if he was excited for them to have another child but she did know that everything would be alright. She burrowed herself deeper into his embrace and drifted off easily into sleep.

 

* * *

 

                “Your suspicions were correct, Mrs. Briefs,” her doctor said as he plopped down heavily into his office chair. “You will have a new addition to your family this upcoming spring.”

                Bulma let out the breath she had been metaphorically holding since she arrived at the office that morning. She allowed herself to relax and smile now, sitting a little easier in her chair.

                “Looking at your last pregnancy, we should be cautious, seeing as how little Trunks was born so early,” her doctor mused, looking over her medical records. “I have never seen a baby born at eight months that weighed almost ten pounds. We could have been incorrect at the due date on that one, but I don’t see us being quite that far off. From what we have talked about with your husband’s information, I am anticipating that you will deliver somewhere between February 2nd and March 10th. It is a large window, but this is a unique situation.”

                “You’re telling me,” Bulma said. Saiyans seemed to do everything their own unique way; this baby was going to be no exception. Her doctor covered all of the necessary information for a pregnancy, including things to expect differently because of her age. He handed her a prescription for prenatal vitamins and a few pamphlets on motherhood. She drove home in silence, happily dreaming about the looming future. A baby… how wonderful! She had enjoyed Trunks so much as a baby, even with the scare that was the Androids, followed by the terror that was Cell. Her sweet baby was strong, smart, and a complete mama’s boy. She thought back on countless nights spent rocking him in her arms and humming little songs to send him into dreaming. He had really grown into a cool kid now too. She wasn’t sure how he would respond to having a brother or sister at ten years of age, but he likely would be a very good brother. He was spoiled, yes, but was very loving underneath.

                She had been at home for a few minutes before she bothered to interrupt her husband’s training. When she had buzzed at the door, the machine was giving a reading of 450G. _He must be winding down for lunch by now_ , she thought. He didn’t bother training at anything less than 800G anymore, but she had built a machine that could endure his rigorous demands. She waited outside for a few minutes, watching the simulator go down gradually back to 1G. Vegeta emerged, wiping his muscles with a towel. She loved seeing him glistening with sweat. His breathing was already normalized to resting, even though less than five minutes ago he was fighting astronomical forces of gravity. All in a day’s work for the prince.

                “You were right,” Bulma said simply. “I am just over a month along.”

                Vegeta nodded, his expression solemn. “And are you okay with all of this?”

                “I am,” she responded. All of the happiness she had been feeling manifested as she threw her arms around her husband, crying. “I am so very okay with all of this.”

                Without hesitation, Vegeta wrapped his arms around her. There they stood in the empty hall, Vegeta holding Bulma while she happily cried into his shoulder. Bulma muttered incoherently and Vegeta ran his hand over her back soothingly. They were both surprised when Trunks’s voice sounded from behind his mother, “What’s going on?”

                Trunks was dressed in his training gear; that must have been why Vegeta had lowered the gravity so greatly. He had a towel draped over his shoulders and a water bottle clasped in his hand.

                “Trunks, your mother is going to be having a baby,” Vegeta announced as Bulma uncoiled herself, wiping tears from her eyes.

                Trunks perked up, “Awesome! So I am going to be the big brother like Gohan?”

                “Yes,” Bulma said with a laugh. She pulled Trunks into a hug and kissed him lightly on his head. “Just like Gohan is to Goten. You will be a wonderful big brother.”

                “That is so cool! I could train him and we could play pranks together. When is he getting here?” Trunks asked excitedly, curling his hands into fists.

                “It could be a sister,” Vegeta responded, taking Trunks back down a bit. “And you’ll have to wait a few months yet.”

                Trunks looked slightly defeated knowing that he could get a baby sister out of the bargain. He thought about Pan and how boring she was. She didn’t even know how to talk yet and she was a whole six months old. He hadn’t been around almost any kids at all throughout his life aside from other kids in school. He crossed his arms, the spitting image of his father, commenting, “I’m going to hope for a brother. Girls are boring.”

                Bulma reached out and ruffled her son’s hair. Everything was going to be alright. 

* * *

 

              

A small envelope sat on the table. Bulma clicked her fingernails on the tabletop impatiently. Vegeta had told her that he would be finished for the day when she got back from her appointment. It was hard not finding out the results at the ultrasound itself but a clean bill of health was all she really asked for. The pictures themselves were contained in that envelope along with the announcement of the baby’s sex. Every fiber of her wanted to reach out and open it early but she abstained. She wanted so desperately to share this special moment with her husband.

 

Trunks had asked to stay over at Goten’s for the night and since he hadn’t seen his friend in weeks, Bulma obliged. Seeing as her parents were at a conference in South City, it was going to be just her and Vegeta for the evening. She rested her hand on her protruding belly, feeling her baby shift lazily inside. She had thrown names at Vegeta for weeks now, eliciting almost no positive reactions. She thought of family names; Balconette, Boxer, Speedo, Bandeau… she had gone with a family name for Trunks, so another family name for baby seemed appropriate. She hadn’t even thought to ask about what family names Vegeta could have to offer: Tarble and Vegeta were the only two names she knew of in his lineage.

                She hadn’t heard him enter, so she nearly peed herself when he set a hand on her shoulder. He smelled heavily of that same ginger shampoo and bar soap, arguably her favorite smells. His thick flame-like hair was still damp, dripping lazily onto a towel resting on his shoulders. She loved the warmth radiating through his ungloved hand, which was more and more welcoming as the temperatures slowly dropped outside.

                “This is it?” he mused, picking up the envelope with his other hand. He turned it over, reading the ballpoint pen inscription of his wife’s name on the front.

                “That’s it,” she said breathlessly. Her heart was beating rapidly now. She would be happy with either a girl or a boy, but something in her heart was saying it was a girl. She had experienced several dreams, one the very night she found out about her pregnancy, that were so clear and vivid of a girl with teal hair and eyes. She looked a great deal like Bulma had when she was little, but the girl possessed a certain edge about her… _a warrior’s spirit_. The dream was more like looking at a painting, just enough of a glimpse to engrain the picture in her mind. She had a similar moment when she was pregnant with Trunks but the image of the girl was even clearer. Finally, she pushed her thoughts aside and folded her hands on the table, letting out a deep breath. “Open it.”

                Vegeta looked at her, unsure for a moment, before tearing the envelope open with the turn of a finger. He sifted through the three items inside, his face remaining the usual blank slate. Finally, the corner of his mouth turned up in the slightest bit of a smile. He set the pictures in front of Bulma, the topmost picture had an inscription in the corner of the ultrasound: IT’S A GIRL. She clapped her hands to her mouth with a sharp, happy cry. A baby girl! She would be having a beautiful baby girl to hold and dress and cuddle; a girl to shop with and watch girly movies with and giggle with. Her daughter would be strong and smart and beautiful and cunning. She would brush her hair and dry her tears and tuck her in at night. It was like finding out she was pregnant all over again. She was beyond elated.

                She reached out for Vegeta’s hand but was euphoric when he grabbed both of hers, pulling her swiftly but carefully up and into a heated kiss. She grabbed onto him tightly, joyous tears streaming down her face. She pulled back, laughing happily. He responded with his trademark smirk, but softened. She put her hands on either side of his face and then brought her forehead to his; this was their special sign of affection and connectedness. If she hadn’t been convinced that he was happy to have another child before, she certainly was now.     

* * *

        

The weather was cooling more and more by the day. The leaves had changed long ago and were now making up large piles on the frigid ground. Now six months along, Bulma was glowing in the throes of pregnancy. The baby shower was only a few hours away. Normal Bulma would be running around, making sure everything was going exactly to plan and stressing majorly. Pregnant Bulma wasn’t in the coordinating mood, maybe for the first time ever. Truthfully, she was a little miffed and would rather let Chi Chi and 18 do all of the hard stuff. Her mother was baking up a storm and there was even some extra help along as well; Vegeta’s brother and sister-in-law were in town, or on planet, for the occasion. She had no clue how he had managed to contact the pair of them but she didn’t pry. Vegeta wasn’t one to reveal his secrets.

She had found a nice spot to sit far away from the drama of the party. The rock she was perched on overlooked the koi pond. It was rather relaxing watching the fish swim about lazily. She didn’t know a ton about fish biology, but even in thick pants, a sweater, and a coat, she was still rather chilled in the late autumn breeze; those fish had to be cold. She burrowed her hands deep into the pockets of her favorite new coat, a plush number from a chic maternity boutique she had found in North City. In the week she had owned it, she had worn it nearly every day. There were already all sorts of doodads in the pockets for her bored hands to mess with. Her fingers turned over a tube of lip balm and a few loose washers as she mused, watching the fish swim.

In the last few months, Bulma had really been centered on her family. She had been compiling genealogy records in her spare moments between inventing, presenting, and running their multibillion dollar empire. She had been insisting on more dinners together as a family and even managed to get Vegeta to join them all for a game night (which ended in disaster, but that was her fault for choosing Monopoly). Trunks was responding very well to all the togetherness, as he had always wanted them to be closer as a family unit. This brought tears to her eyes just recalling, but most things were making her cry nowadays. Feeling the rush come back up again, she fished a small pack of tissues from a hidden pocket on the inside of her coat.

“What are you doing out here?” Vegeta asked unexpectedly from directly behind her. She nearly slid off the rock she was sitting on. She turned on the spot and fired a glare at him before dissolving into the tears she had been feeling previous to his arrival. He looked utterly perplexed when she bowled over, sobbing.

“It’s nothing,” she muttered through sobs. “It’s like hiccups anymore. I can’t stop it.”

“Crying? How can you not stop crying?” he pondered as he took a seat on an adjacent rock to hers. Of course he wouldn’t understand the concept of spontaneous crying.

“I’m hormonal, for one,” she offered, dabbing at her face with the tissue, “And I got a letter from my sister today. She isn’t coming.”

Vegeta sighed. From everything he had heard from Bulma and her parents, the older Briefs daughter was quite the flake. She was a feather on the breeze, even as a high ranking official in the Galactic Patrol. As he mused, Bulma pulled a partially crumpled envelope out of her jeans pocket and thrust it angrily into her husband’s hands. Inside was a glossy picture of Tights in her official uniform, flashing a toothy smile and making a peace sign with the hand that wasn’t holding her bulky helmet. Inscribed in a flowery hand at the bottom said “ _Little sister, sorry I won’t be at your baby shower. Duty calls! Love, Tights Briefs, Galactic Patrol, Deputy Commander, 56 th Fleet_.”

Even Vegeta could feel the awkward stiffness radiating from Tights’s odd sentiments and sign off. Stranger yet was a physical copy versus a digital transmission. As he was about to ask how it had all materialized, Bulma frankly stated, “She had Jaco bring it this morning. No gift, of course. It’s not about the gift. It’s just courtesy.”

The two of them sat in silence for a few minutes just watching the fish swim about and listening to the birds singing in the cool air. Vegeta wasn’t one to offer comfort in any quasi-public setting so she had learned long ago to treat his silent presence as a wordless embrace. She steadied her breathing, sniffling less and less as she calmed. Finally, she attempted to push herself up from her rock. At that moment, Vegeta leapt forward and assisted her to her feet more comfortably. In all likelihood, she had another two months left and already felt like a blimp and a half. Now steadied with her arm linked with her husband’s, Bulma resolved to get gussied up and enjoy her shower regardless of who flaked out.

 

Besides the other Briefs daughter, the rest of the intended guests had shown up. While society usually demanded that showers were strictly for the ladies, Bulma was never one to play by the rules. She had invited the whole gang to partake in the festivities which included many of the cliché, silly games she had played at other ladies’ showers. There was a bet going on to predict the baby’s birthday and birth weight, a guestbook where everyone could write a little letter for the mom and baby, and a beautifully decorated table of gifts wrapped in all shades of pink. For the less-enthused (likely also Saiyan in genus) guests, there was at least enough food to feed an army of warriors. Bows, confetti, and lace adorned every surface of the basement level of Capsule Corp. Most people had even followed the instructions to wear pink (as per Mrs. Briefs’s insistence), save for Piccolo, Goku, and Vegeta. Goku and Piccolo looked as they always did, ready for combat at any moment, but Vegeta refused and dressed in a black Capsule Corp tee and jeans. Bulma would never pressure him to wear pink for her… not again, anyway.

Bulma’s mood was nearly forgotten from her episode earlier. She had picked out a dusty pink dress for the party, gathered beautifully at the shoulders and cinched above her growing bump before flowing delicately to her knees. For some god awful reason, she was still insistent on wearing heels, but they were shorter and more practical than what she had been wearing a week ago at work. Her mother had placed a sweet crown of daisies and baby’s breath atop her short aquamarine hair: Bulma was glowing. Much too bothered to be sitting at the heart of the commotion, Vegeta sat further back in a place of observance. Though they weren’t conversing, he and Piccolo had ended up at the same far away table. Vegeta was slowly nursing a bottle of beer, watching everything unfold around the large space. Trunks and Goten, both clad in pink shirts and bowties, were running about, followed closely by little Marron. The ladies all gathered together with Bulma at the front of the room, all playing their little party games and chatting happily. Most of the tethered men were sitting with their wives, partaking in the games and sort of keeping an eye on the children. As Trunks and Goten went whipping behind their table, Vegeta felt the smallest pang of jealousy towards his childless younger brother… Of course the feeling was just out of annoyance for the inevitable crash and cry that followed when Trunks threw Goten into the punch table.

“Hey buddy,” the all too cheerful voice of his nemesis tore him away from watching Chi Chi and Bulma rush from their chairs to scold their sons. The easy going hero took the seat next to Vegeta and across from Piccolo. Piccolo grunted, not moving his eyes in acknowledgment.

“Don’t ever call me that, Kakarott,” Vegeta ordered, though he had said the same thing a thousand times before.

“Lighten up, Vegeta,” Goku responded as he relaxed into the chair. “You’re going to be a daddy again. Isn’t that exciting?”

Truthfully, Vegeta _was_ as excited as he could be about anything, but he scoffed and took a swig of his beer. Much to his chagrin, Goku raised his own beer that Vegeta hadn’t noticed in a toast.

“To my nemesis,” he began lightly. “May your daughter be happy and healthy and have the heart of a warrior.”

Not the worst toast he had ever heard. Reluctantly, Vegeta grabbed his bottle and clinked it against Goku’s in toast. Piccolo’s mouth twitched slightly in amusement.

After a moment in silence, Goku requested, “So what’s her name gonna be?”

Vegeta finished his beer, setting it on the table with a glassy click. “Burakakkuri.”

Goku spat out his beer. He cried, “That’s awful! That’s even worse than Trunks!”

A small pause passed. “That was my mother’s name.”

Piccolo snorted aloud, but quickly looked away to avoid the awkward situation. Goku whistled lowly and then laughed awkwardly with a hand behind his goofy hair. He frantically apologized, “I mean it’s a fine name. Strong. Fitting for a princess.”

“Bulma insisted on a name from my heritage,” the prince said simply. There was no point arguing with the buffoon. “I told her I wasn’t attached to anything and she insisted over and over until I started throwing names at her. Burakakkuri stuck and there’s no convincing her otherwise. It sounds out of place in this language.”

Attempting to lighten the mood that he had created, “What does Burka… berga…. What does it mean in our language, Vegeta?”

“In _our_ language, you would have spoken a dirtier, more slang ridden bastardized version of High Saiyago,” Vegeta huffed, his irritation rising. His conversation quota was far exceeded at this point. “Burakakkurae are trees nearly as strong as steel. They grow to be thousands of years old and can survive in extreme conditions. Are you done asking me questions already?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Goku grumbled, getting up out of the chair. “I’ll chat with you later, buddy.”

A blood vessel nearly popped in Vegeta’s head as his rival left, but his wife made her way over just a moment later. She had just returned from dealing with the smaller demi-Saiyan duo. Gohan had volunteered to help Trunks get Goten outfitted in something dry so the ladies could keep on socializing. Bulma took the seat that her old friend had just vacated.

“Everything alright?” she asked as she finally got seated. Her belly was really getting in the way by this point. When Vegeta rolled his eyes she understood how their banter had gone. She offered, “It will only be a little bit longer for this party. I’ll open gifts and things will wind down from there.”

“Just enjoy your party,” Vegeta insisted, crossing his arms across his chest. “It is no large inconvenience to me.”

Bulma smiled and placed a sweet kiss on his forehead.  He had done his best to let her enjoy her pregnancy. He had been absent for the majority of her pregnancy with Trunks. Though she tried to leave all of that drama behind her, Dr. Briefs had talked with Vegeta early on in her current pregnancy and had been very frank with how difficult it had been for her to deal on her own. The two men had never had a one-on-one conversation before, but it ended up benefitting Vegeta greatly. He never mentioned the conversation with Bulma and he suspected that her father hadn’t said anything either. In truth, he wanted to support his wife this time around. Things were much different this time around… he was different than he had been at the time.

When Bulma had told him she was pregnant with Trunks, Vegeta had left for an entire week as a result. Although he knew pregnancy was a risk at the time, seeing as how they had experienced more than one mishap, he never really expected it would happen. Because of his upbringing, he never considered having children of his own. There were no surviving Saiyan females and interbreeding was terrifyingly taboo in their culture. He was raised to become the strongest fighter in existence, not raise a family. In all honesty, he only knew of Saiyan family life from slivered snapshots from his childhood; from what he had been told by Nappa and Raditz (and Frieza, but who knew how much of that account was truthful), childrearing was left to the lower class. The upper class and the elite had the equivalent of nannies to raise the young until they could begin to train. Nannies were comprised of weak females that could not fight for themselves; a disgraceful role. In his week on his own, he was forced to evaluate what his own values were on child rearing and fatherhood. He had never promised Bulma that he would be involved with the child, therefore he could not be held responsible. What he realized, though, was that this child was part of him whether he liked it or not. Regardless of his past as a mass murderer, he could not bring himself to harm the woman or his future child. Something in him was so irritated at this shift that he could hardly look at his own reflection. Upon his return, he kept himself as distanced as possible so to keep his mind on his training. Inside, he nearly slipped into madness as he struggled with his fight to achieve the level of Super Saiyan and his conflict in values. Taking to space again and nearly getting killed in the process, he let go and stopped caring, embracing his inner power and ascending to the status of legends. Nothing was gained by worrying about the thoughts and the strengths of others. He was born to be great, whatever that meant.

“Thank you,” Bulma remarked, leaning in and kissing her husband lightly on the cheek. He snapped out of his reverie and came back to the party in the basement of Capsule Corporation. She left to regain her hostess position. He watched her walk back and take her seat with Videl, 18, Chi-Chi, and the others. She rested her hand, as she normally did, on her stomach where their daughter was growing. After a moment, she caught Vegeta’s eye and smiled. Some things were worth sticking around for. He had made the right decision to stay around, even if he doubted himself at first.

* * *

 

Out of all the projects she had on her plate over the last seven and a half months, the nursery was the one that kept getting pushed aside in favor of others. Her father had stepped in to take over her duties for what they suspected would be the last two weeks of her pregnancy, allowing her time to relax in the typical Bulma fashion. In the last week, she had drawn up plans for a stylish, yet high tech, baby cradle; picked out paint, fabrics, and furnishings for the nursery; fabricated a model for over the cradle; drawn out an accurate star map for the nursery ceiling; attended a parent-teacher conference for Trunks’s latest unruly behavior; packed her luggage for the hospital; and eaten two cartons of pistachio ice cream. On the last evening of her first week of freedom, she closed the door to the completed nursery and retreated to the kitchen in search of more ice cream. Apparently her son and husband had the same idea that she had. Trunks was seated at the kitchen counter with a pistachio sundae comprised of a half-gallon of ice cream, crushed walnuts, a slathering of chocolate syrup, and a whole can of whipped topping. Bulma slumped against the doorjamb, defeated upon seeing her ice cream container empty on its side, seeping the last bit of its contents onto the counter. Vegeta was cooking something on the stove with enough bell peppers and onions to make her eyes water. It finally hit her that this was going to be one of the last times that their “normal” was just like this.

Trunks looked up from his sundae, his face covered in chocolate sauce and ice cream. “Do you want some, Mama?”

“No thank you, Trunks,” she insisted, her craving now replaced with whatever her husband was cooking. There wasn’t any chance she was going to take her son’s treat away from him. “I hope you are making enough of whatever that is for me too, Vegeta. I have been working hard all day and I think Burakakkuri is a fan of spicy foods.”

“Should be plenty,” Vegeta said shortly. “Are you sure you want to name our daughter such a harsh name?”

“It’s a beautiful name, Vegeta,” she fired back. “Don’t you want your daughter to have a Saiyan name? I named Trunks after my great-uncle. It’s only fair. And besides, her room is decorated with her monogram already. It’s settled.”

Vegeta turned his attention back to the stove. He shook his head, muttering, “It just doesn’t sound right in this language, I’m telling you—“

“And I’m telling you that it sounds perfect,” she finished. “I don’t want to hear anything more about it.”

Vegeta mumbled something in his native tongue as he removed the pan from the stove. It really was a different sounding language, something between Klingon and a click language… and something like Swedish or something. Bulma was no linguist, after all. She took a seat next to Trunks at the counter; his mountain of ice cream was now reduced to a small puddle at the bottom of the gigantic bowl. A moment later, Vegeta plopped a steaming bowl of stir fry in front of her. “There you go. Are you happy now?”

“Incredibly. Thank you, sweetheart,” she said, winking at him. He scoffed at the saccharine name and buried his attention in his much larger bowl of food. Saiyan midnight snacks were large enough to feed a starving family. “The nursery is done, by the way. I did a fantastic job if I might say so myself.”

“I want to see it, Mama,” Trunks insisted, hopping off his barstool.

“Wait for your mother to eat, Trunks,” Vegeta snapped. Trunks froze in place. “Some manners you have.”

“Sorry, Papa,” Trunks apologized, climbing back onto the tall stool next to his mother. “Sorry, Mama. I will wait.”

Bulma leaned over and kissed her son’s hair. At that same moment, the baby kicked especially hard. She cried out and doubled over onto the counter. Both Trunks and Vegeta jumped into offense mode, flanking her on both sides.

“Are you okay, Mama?” Trunks asked urgently.

“It’s not time, is it?” Vegeta insisted.

Bulma caught her breath and sat back up straight. Her eyes watering a bit from the pain, she grimaced, “I’m fine. I think she bruised something in there.”

Though she expected this to elicit a laugh, Trunks looked worried and Vegeta’s brow furrowed a bit more. It was flattering that they were concerned for her, but she had a little longer to wait at least. If she held on another week into February, she would be born at the same gestation as Trunks. This baby seemed to kick just as hard as Trunks did… at least she hadn’t peed herself in public like she had in her last pregnancy.

After she had finished her meal, Bulma declared that it was time for her men to see the nursery. When she stood from the barstool and clenched her side where the baby had kicked, Vegeta insisted on carrying her up the stairs. Once up the stairs and down the hall, they stopped in front of the nursery to see all of her hard work. Though Vegeta and Trunks had both expected a barrage of pink, lace, and bows, the majority of the room was done in cream, grey, and sea foam. What had once been a catch all room full of broken cleaning bots, jumbled furniture, file cabinets full of old blueprints, and more than a few ancient computers was now a sweet sanctuary for a little princess. Bulma had picked out feminine designs and fabrics without using an overabundance of pink, a fact appreciated by her husband and son. The room had a decent allowance of daylight with a large window and a skylight, which was currently framing the moon from overhead. Perhaps the most stunning feature of the room was the winter night sky painted in great detail on the ceiling. The cream color of the walls blended seamlessly into a border of fluffy clouds that gave way to the Milky Way and thousands of hand painted stars.

“What do you guys think?” Bulma asked, taking a seat in the soft gray rocking chair adjacent to the crib. “I think it all came together quite nicely.”

“This is so cool!” Trunks exclaimed, his wonder still focused on the incredible painting above. “I want this in my room too.”

“We will talk about that. Your room needs a makeover soon,” she agreed, idly massaging her belly. Baby was quite active that evening. “I thought Burakakkuri could use a feminine but unique room. Pink is so cliché.”

Everything really had come together so nicely. Even Bulma was impressed with her work in such a short time frame. Sure, she hadn’t painted the ceiling or done any of the furniture arrangement, but she had picked all of the components of the room. She had also built and programmed the crib to have adjustable rocking, soothing music, and a built in monitor. She was actually considering marketing them once she was back in the shop again.

“It is your bedtime, little Trunksie,” Bulma noted. “Time to brush your teeth and wash up for bed. You can keep looking in here tomorrow.”

It wasn’t a huge argument for Trunks to head to bed. He yawned hugely as he bade his mother and father goodnight. Out of all the things that Bulma had to fight with Trunks about, sleeping wasn’t one of them. Unlike Vegeta who could go over a week without sleeping, Trunks would sleep for a week straight if his parents would allow him. A soft click and Trunks’s door was closed; within moments he would be sleeping like a rock.

Exhaustion finally hit Bulma as the silence fell. She sighed largely, closing her eyes and sinking further into the soft suede of the chair. Promptly, Vegeta sat on the floor next to the chair, leaning against the side and mimicking his resting wife. Bulma reached out and ran her hand through her husband’s thick flame-like hair. “What do you think of the nursery?”

“It’s not pink. Color me surprised,” Vegeta responded. “Judging by the amount of pink and ruffles at your shower, I expected a similar aesthetic. The basement is still coated in glitter, by the way.”

“My mother was fully responsible for the décor at the shower,” Bulma countered. “I like pink, but I like to imagine that my daughter can choose to define herself without having abundant femininity forced on her.”

As they so often did, she and Vegeta sat in the quiet together. His lack of argument was soothing to her, as it meant he didn’t hate what she had done with the room. She laughed inside just thinking about what he would have thought about her nursery; out of sheer laziness, her and her parents hadn’t deconstructed her baby room until a few months before she left for Namek. Because they had so many spare rooms, there was never much of a need for the space. It eventually became a guest room before becoming Trunks’s bedroom. Bulma felt movement from her husband and opened her eyes. He was holding a pair of tiny white shoes that she had left out on the adjacent changing table. He turned them over in his hands, examining them closely.

“So small,” he said in a quiet voice. “Will these fit her right away?”

Her heart fluttered at the sweetness of the situation. He hadn’t held Trunks but a few times in his first year. He would have no idea how small his son’s little feet were or how soft his skin was or how it felt to have such a tiny person asleep in his arms. She leaned over, with great difficulty, and kissed Vegeta’s temple. She replied, “It depends on how big she is when she is born. She very well may wear those right away if she is as big as her brother was.”

“She could be smaller than this?” He almost sounded concerned. It wasn’t often that he asked questions at all, really. She imagined that he hated not knowing something that he actually cared about. Both of the shoes sat on his palm without hanging over.

“Those shoes are sized for babies between zero and three months. In all likelihood, they will fit her either right away or pretty soon after she is born. She probably won’t be too much smaller than that,” she assured. “And unless I went into labor tomorrow, she will probably be full sized when she is born.”

“I see,” he declared, still looking at the size of the shoes. Finally, he reached out and set the shoes back on the changing table before getting swiftly to his feet. “You need sleep, Woman.”

“How many times do I have to tell you, Vegeta?” she asked, yawning. Over the years, she had begun to interpret his calling her “woman” as a term of endearment, but chastised him still on habit. He offered his hand to her, which she gladly accepted to hoist herself out of the chair. Once she was on her feet, she didn’t release it, however, and neither did he. Hand in hand, they headed towards their room and towards sleep.

* * *

 

Not a week after the nursery was completed, Bulma woke up in the middle of the night feeling off. Thankfully, Vegeta had been coming to bed at a decent time for the last few nights and was actually nearby. In case it was a false alarm, she sat up carefully and perched at the edge of the bed. A quick glance at the clock read 3:25 am in bold blue numbers. Feeling the baby sitting square on her bladder as she had been doing a lot lately, Bulma decided to head to the connecting bathroom before attempting to lay back down. As soon as she hoisted herself from the bed, she felt a rush of fluids down her legs. Panicking, she flipped on the lights. It had to have been her water breaking; the fluid appeared to be clear, which was a good sign. Carefully, she shuffled to the bathroom to clean herself up. Though she didn’t note her nerves at first, when she grabbed a washcloth from the bathroom cupboard, she noticed a slight shaking in her hands. It was really time. Their family was going to gain one more, likely in just a few hours. She ran the cloth over her legs, tried at no avail to empty her bladder, and then shuffled back into the bedroom to wake her sleeping prince.

Vegeta was curled up on his side, one arm across his chest, the other buried under the pillows. His face was relaxed in sleep. As she sat down on his side of the bed, he turned onto his back, mumbling something incoherent and in his native tongue. She smiled before setting a hand on his chiseled chest and lightly shook him. “Vegeta, wake up.”

His eyes snapped open and he sat up swiftly, always in fight mode. His brain caught up with his body and he abruptly asked, “Are you in labor?”

She laughed a little. “I need to call my doctor. My water just broke but I haven’t had any contractions yet. They are probably going to want me to come in. Can you fly me to the hospital? And I mean in a vehicle before you get any crazy ideas.”

He nodded sharply, getting out of bed and pulling clothes on. She heard him mumble something about how him flying personally was so much safer than flying a plane as she dialed the hospital’s number. After talking to the doctor on duty and having her presumption confirmed, she headed to her closet. As she flipped the light on, she felt a dull, yet overwhelming, pain sweep slowly from her back to her abdomen. She grabbed the door jamb, which kept her from falling to the ground. She had false labor for a week before she had delivered Trunks, so this true contraction was fresh and awful. Slowly, she sank to her knees. She wasn’t sure how long the pain lasted but it felt like forever. As the pain began to slowly lessen, Vegeta lifted her from kneeling. His eyes were widened in shock as he took her in his arms.

“What happened?” he panicked, looking her over. “Is anything wrong?”

“What time is it? I need you to remember the time,” she insisted, reaching up and wiping tears that had leaked from her eyes in pain. “The contractions are starting.”

The time was 3:38 am. Within a few moments, Vegeta had roused the other three members in the household from sleep and was filling them in with what was going on. Bulma carefully dressed herself and ran a comb through her hair while her husband, always the tactician, was developing a game plan in the hallway. She peeked her head through the door to see Vegeta talking to her parents while Trunks was slumped up against the wall next to his father. The plan was for Vegeta to fly the plane to the hospital and get Bulma checked in. Bulma’s parents were going to bring Trunks by once she was settled in. Vegeta disliked this plan for several reasons but held his tongue. Firstly, he detested piloting on terrestrial scales and secondly because he would likely need to use Bulma’s phone to let her parents know when to show up at the hospital. Because Vegeta was being cooperative, Bulma figured it was better to not thank him for being so; pointing out his nice moments was a surefire way to get him to do whatever he thought was best instead.

The flight took less than five minutes. Because of Bulma’s status in the town, they were able to enter through the roof entrance of the birthing center. As soon as the small plane touched down at the hospital, they were greeted by a nervous young man in green scrubs and a mask and a stout old nurse that looked like she could have been a nurse when Bulma’s parents were born. Vegeta exited the plane quickly and opened the door to lift Bulma from the passenger side.

“I am fine, Vegeta,” she said firmly. Pushing herself from the cockpit, she steadied herself on his arm. The young man stepped forward with a hospital wheelchair.

“Hospital protocol,” he said. “Please have a seat, Mrs. Briefs. I am guessing this is Mr. Briefs with you?”

Vegeta huffed. Bulma sent him a sly wink as he retreated to retrieve her bag from the trunk and to recapsulize the plane. They were brought into a small, luxurious waiting room for the hospital’s better off guests. The room was almost entirely empty except for another woman and her family waiting to be admitted. The short nurse that met them on the landing pad shoved a clipboard with admission paperwork into Bulma’s hands with a gruff, “Fill these out. Sign at the bottom of each page.”

As the tiny old woman shuffled away, Bulma shot her an icy glare. The moment was forgotten, however, as she began to turn through the pages and pages of forms. Vegeta sat in a cold plastic chair that, although was made to look like it was upper crust and imported, felt just as uncomfortable as the typical waiting room chair. As Bulma flipped through the many documents, Vegeta idly ran his fingers over the stitching on her hospital bag. He remembered having to go with her to the boutique where she picked this very bag out. It was the specialty maternity store she just _had_ to go to in North City. The flight there had taken them over an hour, she had shopped around for an agonizing _four hours_ , and they had eaten at a subpar teriyaki restaurant before flying another hour home. When they had arrived back at home she insisted that he would receive a reward for his good behavior on the trip. Those rewards were his favorite and almost made the time away from training worth it.

He was snapped from his daydreaming when Bulma dropped the clipboard and grabbed his arm with a surprising amount of force. Her nails dug into his bicep as she winced in pain.

                “Vegeta, something’s wrong,” she said through clenched teeth. “This doesn’t feel right.”

                He put his hand on her belly to get a better assessment of the baby’s condition. To his horror, his daughter’s ki was wavering. He blanched, but kept his expression neutral. Both Bulma and the baby were in distress. Bulma let out a terrible cry and grabbed her stomach. Vegeta jumped to his feet and searched for the young man that had helped them into the waiting room fifteen minutes earlier. Finally finding the man, who turned out to be a nursing assistant, Vegeta insisted that they take Bulma back right away. Within sixty seconds, Bulma was being wheeled back to the back and prepped for potential surgery. Vegeta was slightly thankful that one of the nurses at the desk had taken it upon herself to contact Dr. and Mrs. Briefs, as that meant he was not going to have to call. They entered a starkly white room with all sorts of beeping machinery and apparatuses. His blood ran slightly colder as they put a breathing mask over her face. She looked terrified as the doctor came in and looked at her diagnostics. It hurt him physically to see her so scared.

                The doctor turned to Vegeta after a moment to speak with him personally. “We are going to need to perform a cesarean section to get the baby out. Her heart rate is high and we fear her umbilical cord may be wrapped around her neck. We can have the baby out in a few minutes, but we will need to close your wife’s incision afterwards. It could take up to thirty minutes, possibly more.”

                Completely at a loss of words for one of the only times in his life, Vegeta nodded. He went to Bulma’s bedside briefly and kissed her hand before they wheeled her from the room. He walked in a daze back to the waiting room and took a seat, numb. He rested his head on his hand and fixed his eyes on the clock above the door to the back. Less than an hour ago the two of them were tangled up in their bedsheets asleep. From where he was sitting, he could still sense Bulma’s ki, though more faint than normal. He tried his best to keep his thoughts away from the dark parts of his mind, his eyes still fixed on the clock. Slowly, he let his eyes close and buried his face into his hands.

                _Be strong, my mate, my Bulma._ He repeated in his mind over and over for what seemed like an eternity. The door from the outside kicked open and a lavender blur came ripping in from the roof access.      Trunks nearly collided with a technician in attempts to get to his father, who got to his feet at once.

                “Where is she? Is Mama okay? Is the baby okay? Why are you out here and not back with her? Mama’s probably really scared all by herself,” Trunks cried hysterically, grabbing onto his father. Vegeta placed a hand on his son’s head in an awkward comforting motion.

                “Your mother can take care of herself,” Vegeta insisted with more assuredness than he felt himself. “I can’t be back there when she is in surgery.”

                Dr. and Mrs. Briefs entered the waiting room now. They both looked slightly concerned, but that was slightly lessened by seeing Vegeta comforting Trunks. Trunks pulled back, sniffing and rubbing at his eyes. For once, Vegeta didn’t snap at him for crying. Instead he glanced up at the clock to see it had been nearly twenty minutes since he had been separated with his wife.

                At that moment, though, one of the nurses that had helped get Bulma into surgery came from the back rooms with a smile on her face.

                “Congratulations,” she directed to Vegeta. “Your daughter is healthy and well. She was born at 4:53 am at eight pounds, eleven ounces. Twenty-one inches exactly. Your wife is also doing well. They are stitching her back up and she will be taken to a recovery room in a matter of minutes.”

                Vegeta let out a sigh of relief as if a massive weight had been taken off of his soul. Trunks let out a triumphant cry and was swept into his grandmother’s arms for a giant hug. Dr. Briefs clapped Vegeta heartily on the shoulder and congratulated him. Through all the commotion, Vegeta just wanted to see Bulma and make sure she was alright.

                “We don’t normally do this,” the nurse began again. “But the doctor okayed Mr. Briefs and son to come back to the nursery to see Baby. If you gentlemen would like to put on hospital garments and wash up, we can bring you in early.”

                Trunks almost knocked over his grandparents and the nurse in his eagerness to meet his baby sister. Vegeta caught him by the back of his shirt and mumbled about his bad manners, letting him go as the nurse allowed them access to the hallway beyond. They were led to a side area where they were given dark blue scrub-like garments to slip over their street clothes and little booties to go over their shoes. They washed their hands with heavy duty soap and were ushered down another corridor off the main hall. At last, they entered a little nursery area with several little beds for newborn babies, only one of which was occupied. The nurse that was waiting in the nursery walked to the cradle and scooped up the little bundle of blankets. She softly passed the bundle to Vegeta.

                “Daddy, meet your new baby daughter,” the nurse said in a soft, soothing voice. Even though she was fairly large for a newborn baby, she felt so tiny in his arms. She was sleeping soundly, her tiny pink face relaxed and breathing slowly. She was wrapped up in a receiving blanket and had a pink cap covering most of her head, but he could see faint wisps of aquamarine hair peaking from underneath the hat’s rim.

                _Just like her mother._ He thought, observing his small daughter. He had never held such a little life in his hands before and he surprisingly felt so at ease. Feeling a tug at his shirt, he lowered his arms so that Trunks could more easily see his baby sister.

                “She’s so small,” Trunks whispered in amazement. “Mama was really carrying her around all this time?”

                “Yes, Trunks. We talked about all this,” Vegeta responded, his voice also a whisper so not to disturb the baby.

                “It’s just crazy seeing her here, though,” Trunks said breathlessly. “Can I hold her?”

                “Yes. Sit down. I don’t want you to drop her,” he whispered. Once Trunks got settled, Vegeta carefully handed her over. Trunks stared at her with wide eyes.

                “Hello, Baby. I’m your big brother. We are going to have so much fun together!” Trunks whispered lovingly. He held the baby close and carefully, rocking her gently. Vegeta imagined that if Bulma were here, she would be in tears at the sight of the two of them. She had been so worried that Trunks would be jealous of a new baby, but it didn’t seem like it would be the case. Trunks had inherited levelheadedness from his grandfather and compassion from his grandmother.

                Bulma’s doctor entered the room and asked quietly if he could speak with Vegeta in the hallway. “We are bringing Mrs. Briefs into her room at this very moment. She did beautifully in surgery. She wants to see you and her children right away.”

                He and Trunks were led to Bulma’s room with a nurse pushing the baby’s cradle right behind. Bulma was sitting upright in the hospital bed, staring out at the night sky, when the entourage entered. Trunks came into the room first, rushing to give his mom a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. He took a seat on the room’s couch as he talked excitedly about his baby sister. Vegeta let the nurse enter with the baby, seeing as how Bulma still hadn’t held her child yet. The nurse lifted the baby, who was now crying, and handed her over to her mother. Bulma was glowing as she looked down on her new baby, tears of joy escaping from her eyes.

                “Hello, sweetheart,” she said in a soft voice. The baby continued on crying as Bulma rocked her. Slowly, she ceased her crying but kept her eyes clenched shut. Bulma ran a finger over the baby girl’s cheek and down to her tiny hand. Baby curled her fingers around Bulma’s outstretched finger. “Vegeta, she is so beautiful.”

                Vegeta stepped forward from the doorframe and came to Bulma’s side. He leaned down to her face level and observed their daughter with her. Bulma leaned over and caught Vegeta’s lips with her own. Pulling back, she looked over to her son, who was starting to fall back asleep on the couch. “Trunks, you should get your Grandma and Grandpa from the lobby. Have them come meet your sister.”

                Trunks hopped up from the couch as if he had been electrocuted. “Sure thing, Mama! Be right back!”

                Once Trunks had left from the room, Vegeta and Bulma were left with their new baby girl. The room was mostly quiet, save for the beeping of the monitors mother and child were attached to and the general hospital noises around them. Bulma scooted over a bit and then patted the sheets next to her. Vegeta sat by her side and rested his head against hers.

                “I think you’re right,” Bulma said after a few moments. Vegeta looked at her quizzically. “Burakakkuri is too harsh of a name in this language.”

                Vegeta smirked. “You have her monogram everywhere in the nursery.”

                “I know,” Bulma replied, biting her lip. “Do you know any other names that start with B?”

                “All I know in this language is your name,” Vegeta said with a sigh, leaning into the pillow behind them. “For the longest time I heard your name incorrectly, though.”

                “Oh really?” she asked. “What did you think my name was?”

                “Bulla,” he said simply.

                Bulma’s eyes widened. She repeated, “Bulla…. It’s perfect! Her name is Bulla, named by her daddy after her mommy.”

                At that moment, Trunks entered with his grandparents. The room was a flurry of excitement with a handful of tears thrown in the mix. Not surprisingly, everyone seemed to prefer Bulla for the new member of the family. Trunks had taken the liberty of calling the Son family and Krillin, who would be bringing his family by later in the day. Bulma’s parents decided to take Trunks for breakfast as the sun began to peek over the horizon. Bulma, just having fed her little princess, closed the door to the hallway and got back in her hospital bed. Her incision was aching and she was quite tired. She carefully handed Bulla to her father so she could take a few bites of the bland hospital food she had been brought a while ago. Though she had been awake for a little while for feeding, the littlest member of the family was drifting back into dreaming. Vegeta watched her as she yawned and snoozed.

                “She looks just like you,” Vegeta said, his daughter’s hand wrapped around one of his fingers. “I don’t know if I am convinced that she is not a clone you made in your lab.”

                “I guess you’ll never know, will you?” she tossed back at her husband. “She has your tail. You can’t push that on me.”

                “I suppose not,” he replied. Just like her brother, she had been born with a brown Saiyan tail. Had she not discussed the matter with her doctor, it would have been a real surprise for him when the baby was born. She had learned this from Trunks’s birth thirteen years earlier. This doctor that she had now was more familiar with… unique births. Bulma had learned that his brother was a member of the Galactic Patrol, just like her sister. The conversation about her baby being only half-human was a fairly easy discussion.

                Bulma finished up her mediocre breakfast and settled back into her pillows, exhausted. Her husband was still entranced by their daughter, a sight that melted her heart. Rather than taking her back, Bulma urged Vegeta to settle in next to her. He kicked his shoes off to lay next to her in the bed, the baby nestled in his arms between their bodies. In that moment, the snow falling softly outside the window, everything felt complete. Vegeta fell asleep almost as soon as he laid down next to her. She looked from his resting face to their baby and she smiled; there was a stronger resemblance than he believed.

                “Thank you,” she whispered as she kissed Vegeta’s forehead. She nuzzled close to him with her arm close to her new daughter and fell asleep. Everything was right.

               

               

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading my little story. This began as something much smaller (just an idea for a short drabble) and evolved into my own little baby as I kept writing. Please let me know if anything needs fixed and I will take care of it. I apologize for the indentations being inconsistent; the switch from Word to online is not translating well with my work apparently. 
> 
> Also, if you enjoyed this, please feel free to bother me on tumblr under the alias bezitapitachiquita. <3


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